And then comes the moment when you're doing something for so long the made purpose of the course is to prove a point you've drawn before only in theory.

My stay here at the office has been all I needed it to be: a money-making gig. But I won't deny its queer gifts. An object of my affection and desire, and therefore my literature, and the precise affirmation of the concept itself: Life sucks, but I'm cool.

I will leave this work. This is an authentic announcement. I must admit that this, for me, is a happy place, making it the very space where I get hurt most and often, and easily.

There should be shame in this weakness perpetually practiced: It's more convenient to get mad and fight than reason and compromise.

It is hardest to reason and reason well. It's nothing short of telling a plausible story.

Probably because what went with time, I know I cannot retrieve, exactly as time.

Or I cannot hurry whatever I assume, pray will still return.

*

Given our changes are still us, where are those who've changed withus?, through us?

*

Amazing how time passes swiftly along with waiting. And hurt does nothurt enough.

Yet almost crazily I obsess with beginnings and endings, like mysanity relies solely as to where I place my self in the spectrum.

*

What I give may be mine--what of those I'm not willing to let go of?

The giving game is fun only when someone's needing.

*

Half of October is spent in doubting and hanging on to whatever's leftto hold on to: dreams, deceit; what's left of good intentions;figuring the extent of things I could do and the extent of what Icould forgive, thus accept.

I measure my days with how much I manage to live without: messagesand a plea for a call, the desire to send messages and call.

I heard this question in a radio talk show a couple of nights ago. And I answered it in my head.

I cannot take away Monday. It's "Manic Monday." It's when one is either excited/hopeful in starting the week, and in some ways, a new life or highly frustrated for again starting yet another unremarkable seven days.

Wednesday, I cannot take away too. It has such character. It's the middle of the work and school week and Lisa's made a song with it, "Waiting for Wednesday." It's the day when you think of how you'll progress through the rest of the week, make it quite pretty, if not fantastic.

Thursday, Thursday is my favorite. It's the day before Friday. When Thursday comes, Friday becomes so near, meaning the weekend is so near. And just pronounce "thurs." Hear it. It's soft and smooth as rabbit's fur.

2.
I just had a great Saturday with my brother. We went to Brittany Bay, ate burger for lunch, had coffee, then on the way home, while drizzling, I vomited on the street the liters of water I drank at the cafe.

At home, we watched, "Amores Perres," a film that reminded me of Sannrise--which reminded me that "hope is severed from expectation," as Ms. Michaels put it quite well.

3.
It's nebulous, how I'm feeling, I don't know the things I have, I don't know them, because I don't have a name for them.

To name is to limit, to capture, yes, in a way. But what if I give a wrong name, what if I assume? I'll just force the circle into the square. But then I agree man makes miracles and that "everything is in everything else," as Mr. Paterson put it quite well.

And I like the advice, not having to name it. To just stand at an approximation, though so worr…

Worst is to assume you've known a person completely. You can only best learn a way of dealing with someone. And changes too abrupt. Primary to discover your self, your desires; check your defenses.

It's very easy to love someone so beautifully ordinary, because you can create all the myth you want of her and marvel at the humanness of her. Because once someone is so seemingly perfect, you feel him or her too good to be true.

But inconvenient when you are surrounded by minds too narrow to fit a shapeless relationship in.

Who cannot figure the pleasure lies there shifting, only given to certain luck for capturing.

3.
I make a dedication not to list the statistics, for I want to turn the facts into story. That which has beginning, middle—how I'll linger in the middle, and I'll hurt in the middle, and I'll wait in the middle, might even make promises in the middle.

4.
For something sane:

But for the name, the only pronoun appropriate is in our common tongue: siya, niya, kaniya. And of between us: kita.

5.Pagtingin: no, never, never a feeling, but a way of seeing.

I have a way of seeing you.

That which the I can never elucidate to the you.

Thus the injury.

6.
With E:E: I don't think I can handle rejection.

Me: I undermine rejection with worth of that gift of knowing someone finds a certain wonder about you.
Simply acknowledge that someone honestly admires you.

I went to Paenaan, Antipolo last Friday for a company outing. Suddenly, 17 of us found ourselves bored and so nagkayayaang umakyat ng bundok.

We were just supposed to see a waterfall. We didn't know we had to climb a mountain for more than an hour.

It was my first time. I haven't even tried wall climbing in the malls. Had I been alone, I wouldn't pursue it at all. But "Since the rest of the girls are doing it, why can't I?", I said to my self. Uhuh, peer pressure.

Every time I worry about going through a very steep incline, my worry doubles, for I also had to think of going back--how I could manage that.

And because I'm writing this, I managed.

I never thought I would enjoy it. After reaching the waterfall, and higher, drinking the fresh water from a bamboo tongue, I got a feeling I could do anything. There really is something about challenging your physical limitations--the moment I got down, I thought of when my next climb would be.

I guess it's an old idea that in the end (or at the core?) of all acquaintances and relationships, what we really want and need to know of another is what they think of us. With the knowledge of how the other perceives you, suddenly s/he becomes complete, or suddenly uninteresting.

I never1 reject a Friendster testimonial, for I would like to believe those things are written with urgency, thus sincerity.2

And you are, of course, excited about what people would like to say about you, excited even at the craft of it--how they say it (your friends, after all, are reflective of you.) And you, of course, can't help but wait for that adjective you want to hear.3

And, of course, the time when I overanalyze. I get a bit crazy when people throw away a description like "she's a good writer," when they haven't read anything I've written, nor are they interested in writing at all. I get crazier when they write their testimonials as if they're texting you. But I…

Don't worry, these are not my words, so you can relax and trust them. This is an excerpt from Anne Michaels' astonishing--astonishing--book (I don't want to call it a novel), "Fugitive Pieces."* A parable: A respected rabbi is asked to speak to the congregation of a neighbouring village. The rabbi, rather famous for his practical wisdom, is approached for advice wherever he goes. Wishing to have a few hours to himself on the train, he disguises himself in shabby clothes and, with his withered posture, passes for a peasant. The disguise is so effective that he evokes disapproving stares and whispered insults from the well-to-do passengers around him. When the rabbi arrives at this destination, he's met by the dignitaries of the community who greet him with warmth and respect, tactfully ignoring his appearance. Those who had ridiculed him on the train realize his prominence and their error and immediately beg his forgiveness. The old man is silent. …

O noon that's vaulted wide,
but for one hour infuse my eyes
with that good light which was before eyes were—
melt down the lie of colors...

—Gottfried Benn*The truth I care about passes my tongue and reaches fullness! before it ends again.

When I look back from the farthest future, this will be the most vivid filmstrip that'll present itself, my lunch hours: how I outlast people in the dining room and then have a wonderful 30-minute walk to the office.

I, too believe you can never perfectly duplicate anything, let alone an experience, an astonishing experience. And so as much as possible—it is always possible—I try different places and different food in different noons.

*I received 2 remarkable messages today, one from Althea (Kanina pa ako natatawa mag-isa! Dahil naaalala ko long poem ko!') and the other one was this short verse by GB, texted to me by JO.

1.)Be careful how you live. You may be the only BIBLE some people read.

--sign below the dashboard of the Sucat-Ayala shuttle service I was riding.2.)

My brother and I caught the Klazz Brothers and Cuba Percussion's concert at Arirang last night. They played music from their album, "Mozart Meets Cuba." If you like Mozart, if you like jazz, if you're a fan of creativity, get this! (But if you're not fan of those things, yet you like me, then get me this!)

Blame it on him.Meme No. 2: Write 20 random facts about yourself, then tag a number of people equal to the number of minutes it takes you to write the facts.1. I am more interested in doing Meme No. 1 than this.2. I used to eat chalk when I was young and won't mind eating some now.3. What poses as fact in this blog is half-truth, if not a complete lie.4. I classify friends.5. This meme is too pacute, but I'm answering this, because: a) JO is a good friend; b) It's in my nature to be pacute; c) It's a break from my usual blogging mood and d) There's nothing better to do.6. I drink coffee at Starbucks/Figaro/SBC every day.7. Am not fond of short stories.8. I don't believe in anyone who says s/he is passionate about Bjork's music.9. I love watching basketball and volleyball.10. I do not know how to cook. (And I feel ashamed.)11. If I'll be bestial, I'll do it with a cheetah.12. I have pathetically dry skin.13. I am willing to spend 1,000 …

Got seriously sick in six months. I woke up, the right side of my head felt like breaking. I thought it would just go away if I fight it, just like what I did to my other headaches. And so I got dressed, went out. I rode a bus from Buendia to Ayala, and as the bus passed by the LRT station, I felt like vomiting. I got off. Vomited.

I vomited the ache away. I could already walk and think straight, but I opted not to go to work. Six months ago, given the same situation, I would've gone to work with no question, but now, no.

Figuring my way back home, I still considered going to the office. It was so near. I felt bad for the sum of money I'd lose and the impending blemish on my attendance report. Funny, I never wanted to live for money and records, but if not for these short-term objects, what for?

I kept remembering my friend who'd not attend to work, because he had to write a poem. (Bakit kaya ang sarap-sarap ng tula? I completely admire those who trust, ang tu…

In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
but the atom of the love that drew it forth
from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's--boastful
with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.The greatest gratitude for poetry.

From the 15-year-old Lee Hyeon Ju:Teacher razle and susan are you Okay?Yesterday I was reading a newspaper and saw it.The philippines has a state of national emergency.so I was very worried.In my country the president is not good at government.So a nation is complain about a president.I think your president is not good when I saw newspaper.Did you same thinking of me?Anyway I hope that the philippines will Okay.Teacher susan and razle take care.(Please a reply to me all right?)Bye Bye ^-^I do same thinking of you, dearest Hyeon Ju.

I was already having my chicken empanada heated when I saw at the bottom shelf a familiar figure in an unfamiliar, but expected price (guess what, from Php40 to Php65.)

My candid self almost asked the barista, "Did you bring it back, because I kept asking for it?")

What stopped me from asking was, I didn't need an answer. But more practically, I did not want to embarrass the barista--and my self.

But I always need that. That feeling, I mean, that every event in the now, I have a hand on. Because it's as if all has been a machination of chance. And while most of the time I believe in what they say about you engineering your chances, the universe has a way of making you see your self so little. So little you squint your eyes trying to find your self, trying to find your self, the universe disappears.